


Sit, Stay, Wait

by whatsup_buttercup



Series: Showtime [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Cockwarming, Collars, Leashes, M/M, Multi, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Torture, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Club, Sub Katsuki Yuuri, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 22:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14861855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsup_buttercup/pseuds/whatsup_buttercup
Summary: Before he can begin to truly show off, however, Viktor says, “Stop.”Yuuri looks up. It’s hard to make out Viktor’s expression from this position, especially without his glasses, but from what he can tell, Viktor isn’t looking at him at all.“So, Chris,” Viktor begins, voice even, cock fully seated in Yuuri’s mouth and throat. He continues in French, voice tiling up at the end, a question.Is he-Heis.Viktor’s not even hard.As Viktor and Chris chat, Yuuri tries to process everything he’s feeling. Frustration. What is even thepointif Viktor isn’t looking. Viktor’s cock is in his mouth and he says “stop”.





	Sit, Stay, Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to Athra ([getaway_machine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/getaway_machine)) for the beta!
> 
> Now that this is out of my system, I can return to I Like Me Better.

Yuuri’s never had a lot of close friends; growing up Hasetsu, studying abroad in Detroit, and now, living in St. Petersburg, it’s the same. Superficial friendships aren’t worth his time, and there are very few he’s willing to share thoughts and shortcomings with.

In St. Petersburg, it’s Viktor. Yuri. Makkachin, if she counts.

And really, that’s enough.

A younger Yuuri wouldn’t have believed it, but Viktor is largely the same. He’s always been so driven that distractions such as friends were amiably kept at arm’s length. 

Yuuri grips Viktor’s hand tighter, only half-listening to the friendly banter filling the air. Chris laughs at something Viktor says, then pats Yuuri on the shoulder lightly, sharing a joke that literally went over his head. The evening streets are frigid and icy, sparsely populated. It wouldn’t do to twist an ankle, so Yuuri keeps a vigilant eye on the sidewalk beneath their feet and tells himself firmly that he’s looking out for their well-being. His nerves aren’t singing under his skin in anticipation of what’s to come. His throat isn’t tight.

It hasn’t worked yet, but perhaps if he keeps trying, the buzz will settle.

Viktor has few friends, it’s true, but one of them is Chris. Who’s here, right now, walking with them on familiar streets. To a familiar club.

Yuuri swallows.

No one knows Katsuki Yuuri at the club, apart from Viktor. They just know a lovely pet who gets off while sucking off strangers, and likes to put on a show.

The bouncer outside nods at Yuuri and Viktor, then takes a while verifying Chris’s passport and Swiss membership card. The club is a chain, Viktor had explained, one that Chris had introduced him to originally.

Yuuri tries hard not to think about that, Viktor without him. Being pleased by someone else.

Chris isn’t done with the bouncer. Still, Yuuri pulls Viktor into the establishment, past the curtains and plush crimson furniture of the entryway and to the small bar, steps deliberate.

Chris can find them. For now, Yuuri needs a drink. 

“I thought you were worried,” Viktor laughs, warm and charmed.

“He’ll catch up,” Yuuri says. 

The bar is serve-yourself. Yuuri grabs a rocks glass, adds one large, clear ice cube, and pours three fingers worth of Miyagikyo Single Malt, hands steady.

Viktor’s close. He rests a hand on Yuuri’s lower back, nearly covering the expanse of it with his palm, as he pours himself a much less generous glass of the same.

“I didn’t know yours had a bar,” Chris says. He must have finally cleared the check at the door.

“Unfair!”

Yuuri catches Chris’s green eyes, then looks down and takes a gulp of his whiskey. Right. 

“Such a shame,” Viktor says. “Guess you’ll just have to come visit us when you’re thirsty.”

Chris’s visit. The reason they’re here. The tension comes back, thick and buzzing.

Yuuri’s been having a difficult few weeks. Technically, it’s the off season, so his stress should be down, but his brain never listens to reason on when it’s supposed to be anxious and when it should chill the fuck out, thanks.

So, even in this rest time, Yuuri has been sneaking off to the much-less-private Russian rink to practice figures, jumps, anything at all. Throwing himself fully into action lets Yuuri feel a little more in control. Plus, it wears him out. 

Viktor had offered to see if Chris could reschedule his visit. No, Yuuri insisted. This will wear him out too.

Chris and Viktor chat for a while, about Chris’s flight, about the competition for the upcoming season. Yuuri contributes a little, but he’s only half-there. He can feel his mindset shifting, as it often does in the club.

A few more couples wander in, sitting in clusters on the plush furniture and talking, mostly. Nothing too adventurous is going on. It’s still early on a Saturday night, but things will definitely heat up over the next few hours. Yuuri swallows the rest of his drink, feeling the burn against the back of his throat, and wishes it was wise to have another.

At a break in the conversation, Viktor sets down his glass and smiles. “Shall we?”

Chris looks excited, eyes bright. “Yes, let’s!”

There’s a low couch against the wall, partially hidden by drapes. It’s more secluded than their usual spots, but that will work just fine for tonight. A large audience is not required.

Chris sits on the right, Viktor sits on the left. Viktor’s eyes meet his as he gently sets a couch pillow on the carpeted ground near his feet. Yuuri swallows and fluidly kneels on it.

Viktor turns towards Chris as he resumes their conversation, in French, casual as can be.

Training in Russia, Yuuri’s rinkmates are very considerate, often switching to English for Yuuri’s benefit. There’s so much English, in fact, that the sound of Viktor’s voice in his native tongue always sends a shiver down Yuuri’s spine. It’s rare and brings to mind how often he listened to Russian interviews and coverage of Viktor’s skates as a teen, dreaming, planning. 

He’s always known that Viktor is fluent in French, but it’s something else, hearing the musical language flow from Viktor’s lips in easy conversation, washing over him, setting him apart. 

Chris laughs. Yuuri can’t understand the joke. This is different than all the other times he’s sat at Viktor’s feet.

Viktor’s fingers thread through the hair at the back of his neck and Yuuri leans into it, wanting. He doesn’t have to participate; he couldn’t even if he wanted to. A little of the tension leaves his shoulders. Yuuri leans against Viktor’s thigh, warm and solid.

He drifts. Between every slow blink the club feels a little more crowded, people trickling in slowly. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says. His name is a discordant note from the fluid French. Yuuri sits up from where he was leaning, spine straight, ready to go, trying to pull on the seductive persona he wears here and finding that it isn’t covering everything, the anxious edges of Katsuki Yuuri visible.

Viktor’s hands feel electric as he slides the butter-soft leather collar against Yuuri’s skin. When had Viktor pulled it out? He’d really been zoned out. Yuuri tilts his chin up, exposing the vulnerable line of his neck further. He can feel Viktor’s eyes on him, as they should be, but he can also feel Chris’s gaze, and it’s… not unpleasant. 

Here is Viktor Nikiforov, tightening a collar around Katsuki Yuuri’s throat, this time viewed by someone who actually knows them both. It sends a shiver down the length of his spine: of excitement, of anxiety. Yuuri feels a lot more naked than he usually does. Viktor’s fingers are deft and confident as he tightens the buckle just enough, on the edge of too-tight. 

“Get ready for me, Beautiful,” Viktor says, voice a low rumble, rougher in English. Yuuri doesn’t have to ask for clarification, already reaching up to undo the buttons on his shirt, slow and deliberate. 

He shrugs off his shirt and then folds it, setting it to the side in a neat white square; it’s a little colder in the club than they normally keep the temperature, he can feel his nipples already pebbling. 

Chris says something low in French. Viktor repeats it, smile in his voice. 

He slips out of his shoes, socks, slacks, and underwear as gracefully as possible from his position on the floor, folding those too and setting them in the same small pile, shoes set a little to the right, then goes to return to his kneeling pose on the pillow. Viktor stops him with a hand on his collar, redirecting him so he’s kneeling between Viktor’s legs.

The pose has him with his face to Viktor’s crotch, bare ass up and exposed. He shivers and nuzzles in, eager to please. 

“Very enthusiastic, isn’t he?” Chris says. Yuuri flinches and feels the beginning of a blush, which is _ridiculous_.

“Always,” Viktor says, proud. He reaches down to play with Yuuri’s lower lip; Yuuri opens his mouth easily, pliant. “He has people lining up to suck their cocks, my sweet little thing.”

He _does_ , when they choose to do that kind of play. Yuuri likes to show off. 

“I’m _not_ surprised,” Chris says. “You lucked out, Viktor.”

“I did.”

Yuuri preens, letting his mouth fall open wider, going boneless.

“What’s most impressive is his stamina,” Viktor continues, tracing his fingers along the curve of Yuuri’s cheek as he reaches for his fly. Yuuri swallows, surprised. He usually has to work for a taste of Viktor’s cock, when they’re out like this.

Viktor’s still soft as he pulls himself out of the confines of his slacks.Yuuri leans forward unconsciously, ready to lean in for a sucking kiss to the tip to show off just how quickly he can melt Viktor Nikiforov into a puddle. Before Yuuri’d met Viktor for real, he’d seen Chris on Viktor’s instagram from time to time, posing and smiling, and every time he’d been in a competition with Chris he’d held in the jealousy as best he could, with the knowledge that he’d get there someday.

“Now, Yuuri,” Viktor says, voice a low, low thing that sends heat to pool in the bottom of Yuuri’s stomach. “Chris and I have a lot to catch up on.”

Viktor guides his soft cock into Yuuri’s pliant mouth. Learning forward until his nose is against silver curls, Yuuri cradles it with his tongue, wrapping his lips around it eagerly. 

Before he can begin to truly show off, however, Viktor says, “Stop.”

Yuuri looks up. It’s hard to make out Viktor’s expression from this position, especially without his glasses, but from what he can tell, Viktor isn’t looking at him at all.

“So, Chris,” Viktor begins, voice even, cock fully seated in Yuuri’s mouth and throat. He continues in French, voice tiling up at the end, a question. 

Is he-

He _is_. 

Viktor’s not even hard. 

As Viktor and Chris chat, Yuuri tries to process everything he’s feeling. Frustration. What is even the _point_ if Viktor isn’t looking. Viktor’s cock is in his mouth and he says “stop”. 

The fabric of Viktor’s expensive slacks is a little rough against his cheeks. His nose is filled with the warm, familiar smell of Viktor; of his skin. 

The ground is carpeted but not plush, sitting roughly against his palms, no doubt leaving indents. Yuuri’s knees hurt without the barrier of a pillow. 

Chris says something. Viktor laughs in response.

Yuuri whines, involuntarily. It isn’t loud, but Viktor must feel it vibrate against his cock. He reaches down, threading his fingers through Yuuri’s hair and pressing his head even closer. “Shhh,” he says, keeping his hand firmly at the back of Yuuri’s skull.

They keep talking. It’s infuriating. 

Yuuri’s hard, very much so. Anyone glancing over will see his arousal hanging flushed between his thighs, see how turned on he is by being used in this way. Yuuri shifts on his knees, trying for a more comfortable position, but stops when Viktor’s fingers tighten in his hair. 

Yuuri can’t swallow, not like this. A little drool leaks out and runs down his chin. Yuuri breathes in deeply through his nose, in and out, slowly, feeling with every passing minute the stretch of his lips and jaw. Every time he shifts a little too much, Viktor makes a displeased sound.

When Viktor first traveled to Hasetsu to be his coach, this is what many fans speculated about, in a way. That it was a booty call, and Viktor had packed up all his things to travel across the world and fuck him.

Chris is watching Yuuri being used like an object. Viktor _did_ travel across the world to fuck him, but not just that. Even now, Yuuri can feel the light weight of the pair ring on his finger and be reassured that it’s more than that, so much deeper a connection.

Eventually, the pain in his hands and knees fades to the background. The weight of Viktor on his tongue becomes his whole reality, alongside each slow breath. 

When Viktor’s hand in his hair pulls Yuuri off his cock, Yuuri’s briefly afraid he’s fallen backwards, it’s so disorienting. His lips chase one last taste before he’s too far away.

Viktor reaches down and gently lifts up Yuuri’s chin, closing his gaping mouth. Yuuri swallows and winces at how much the motion hurts.

“Good job,” Viktor says. 

“Very good job,” Chris adds, whistling. 

 

Yuuri shivers, full-body. The movement jostles his arms and legs, which remind him loudly about how sore they are. 

As an athlete, though, he’s used to pushing past his body’s protests.

“Yuuri, did you like that?” Viktor says.

Yuuri hums appreciatively.

“Would you like to show off a little more? Think you can go farther?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, voice rough and needy. 

“I know you can.”

Viktor stands. Chris stands too. _Oh._

Chris unzips his fly. Like Viktor, he wears slim black underwear that’s easily pushed aside. Even though it’s his friend who he’s never had any particular sexual thoughts about before, Yuuri is proud to see his flush cock, stiff and interested.

Finally given permission to show off, Yuuri gives it all he has.

Yuuri nuzzles in close, pressing forward to suck at the base of his cock and the soft skin of his balls. He laps obscenely at the sensitive skin there and is delighted when Chris’s cock begins to fill out and harden against his cheek. 

“You can pull his hair,” Viktor says. “He likes it rougher than I can usually give.”

“Does he now?” Yuuri feels a tug on his scalp, and he follows the motion eagerly as he’s pushed forward to swallow down Chris’s erection.

His mouth is still sore and tired, and it’s hard to move with his head restricted by the fist in his hair, but Yuuri tries his best to lick and suck, desperate to please. He doesn’t want to think too deeply about the dark brown curls his nose keeps being pressed into as belonging to someone he knows. An anonymous cock or two is fine; Viktor’s perfect length another thing entirely. Chris is _Chris_. A real person, who he’ll see again and again, who _isn’t Viktor._

“How can anyone look so cute sucking cock?” 

Viktor reaches down and strokes Yuuri’s cheek. “It’s a talent. So cute.”

Yuuri is usually better at the rhythm to this; breathing while getting his throat fucked. But he’s breathing like an amataur now, gasping and choking. His composure is battered.

Chris _is_ better than Viktor at being rough, but only by a little. The grip in his hair is tight and just over the edge of painful, but well within the range of what Yuuri likes. 

“Look up, Beautiful. It’s rude to keep your eyes shut like that.” Viktor commands.

Yuuri looks up to meet Chris’s green eyes. There’s a light flush to his cheeks. His eyelashes are way too long. Yuuri chokes, again. He’s going to think of this every time he meets Chris’s eyes from now on. Including _competitions_. 

He can’t help it; he flinches.

Chris’s cock leaves his mouth with a pop. “Viktor.”

Viktor’s fingers curl around the soft leather of his collar, tugging him over as he gasps.

“It’s okay, I know what he needs.” Viktor brushes Yuuri’s bangs back gently, petting him. He then guides his cock into Yuuri’s mouth.

It’s obscene how much it makes him relax, Viktor’s huge length sliding home down his throat. 

It’s one of his favorite things, Viktor fucking his mouth. He looks up and meets Viktor’s eyes as Viktor moves his head back and forth on his cock. It’s okay. He’s good at this; he’s the best at this. There’s absolutely no shame in the way he makes Viktor’s cheeks flush red and his eyes glitter with pride and arousal. 

Once he’s satisfied that Yuuri’s okay taking it again, Chris and Viktor pass him back and forth, until he has trouble keeping track of who he’s sucking. The club fades out, along with the pain in his knees and the ache in his jaw. This is awesome.

It’s honestly almost a disappointment when Chris pulls out and comes in a sticky mess all over his forehead and hairline. He could have kept going.

“Wow. Thank you, sweetheart.” Chris’s compliments make him flush with pride, but he looks up to Viktor’s eyes. He’s delighted. 

Watching Yuuri suck cock is demonstrably something that turns Viktor on. He slides into Yuuri’s mouth, this time cupping both his cheeks as he thrusts into his mouth. He holds Yuuri in place as he comes down his throat, and Yuuri fights to swallow every drop, even chasing his softening cock as he pulls out.

Yuuri’s left gasping. 

Viktor and Chris calmly clean up, tucking themselves back into their pants. Once they’re both decent and settled back on the couch, Viktor gestures to the pillow on the floor. Yuuri kneels on it gratefully, chest still heaving as his heartbeat comes down and he rests against Viktor’s warm thigh.

Chris hands VIktor a handkerchief, which he uses to wipe the cum off Yuuri’s forehead. It doesn’t get all of it, leaving his forehead and hair still shiny with dried semen.

“So anyway, Chris, thanks so much for introducing me to this club. As you can see, it’s a huge hit with Yuuri.”

“I can see that. _Wow_ , Viktor. It’s almost enough to make me fly across the world to coach him, too.”

Yuuri’s so hard, his cock dripping precum between his thighs. Viktor and Chris look in no hurry to take care of it. The resume a casual conversation in French.

Yuuri knows he’s being teased. 

Chris gets up and brings them both another drink.

They keep talking.

He shifts minutely, trying to use the pressure of his own thighs to relieve the hot coil in his belly without being noticed. It’s barely any pressure. God, he wants to be fucked. It would be so wonderful.

Every time they go here, Yuuri has shed his hesitancies bit by bit. At this point, Viktor could just pull him up right here and have him sit on his cock. He’s done it before. He isn’t stretched like normal, but as horny as he feels right now he wouldn’t even mind just being stretched open on Viktor; the slow, hard burn of it. He presses his thighs together tighter, trying to get relief. They’re not looking at him, which is unacceptable, but it also maybe means they won’t notice. 

It’s barely anything. He’s so empty. 

They’re not going to take pity on him, he knows. Not today. He’s either going to have to beg, which will just result in more waiting, or he’ll have to act out. Which will still cause waiting, but at least he’ll get some punishment in the interim, and that’s some kind of relief. 

“Vi-” Yuuri’s voice is rough. He swallows and tries again. “Viktor.”

Viktor’s gaze flickers his way, then back to Chris. His eyes are sparkling with mischief.

Yuuri whines, low in his throat. “Viktor.”

Viktor pauses dramatically. “Excuse me for a moment, Chris.”

“Of course!” Chris plays along, hand in his chin.

“Do you need something, Beautiful?” His voice is a warning.

Yuuri wants _everything_. “Please, please.” He seriously didn’t intend to resort to begging so fast, but he’s all riled up and Viktor hasn’t been looking at him at all.

When Viktor simply smirks and turns back to Chris, something inside him snaps. He surges up and grabs Viktor’s tie; pulling him down so they can look eye to eye. “Viktor.”

Chris laughs. “You heard the man.” 

Yuuri, in some distant part of himself, wants to laugh too: at Viktor’s wide eyes. He shouldn’t be surprised when Yuuri’s flip gets switched, not anymore, not after all that teasing. 

“That’s not how this works and you know it,” Viktor says, but his hands slide down Yuuri’s naked back and stop at the smallest part of his waist. Yuuri’s not even sure Viktor’s aware he’s done that. 

Yuuri’s eyes go half-lidded. “No?”

“Definitely not.” Viktor leans down and presses their foreheads together briefly, then pulls back to reach into his pocket and pull out something glittering and gold. Nipple clamps, connected by a thin chain. “Neither of us are ready yet, Beautiful. If you can’t be good and wait, we’ll have to give you something else to focus on.”

“Those are lovely! Why Viktor, I didn’t know you were the type.” Chris reaches out and inspects the clamps, shifting them in the light.

“I’m not,” Viktor says. “But my Yuuri sure is.”

Yuuri’s blood thrums in his ears. He knows what else is in Viktor’s pocket.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Viktor offers.

“With pleasure.” Chris grabs the clamps while Viktor pulls Yuuri up via his collar, and oh-- Viktor’s getting the leash out, smooth and black, which he clips into place at the large hook under Yuuri’s chin. 

He ends up spread across their laps, head and chest closer to Chris, while Viktor holds his leash just tight enough. His cock is hard and glossy between his legs, his breathing a little faster. Both of their attentions are on him again and he really, really likes it.

Chris licks his thumb and then pinches Yuuri’s right nipple, sharp, and he gasps as lightning spreads from that point right to his cock. He gets a tight grip on the dusky pink bud and tugs it up and down slowly, mercilessly; seeming to understand what Yuuri is asking for better than Viktor did at the beginning. With each sharp tug upward, the flesh of his chest tents in to a sharp point, and with each release Chris rubs the tender bud between his fingers. It _hurts_. It’s overwhelming. The torture goes on for minutes, hours, an eternity. Yuuri’s whole world shrinks down to that point, as tears gather unbidden in his eyes. His mouth falls open and gasping. 

Viktor puts his palm flat on Yuuri’s stomach, so he can feel the muscles twitch.

“You weren’t kidding,” Chris says. Yuuri has a hard time taking in the words. “He really, really does. You know, if he’s this into nipple play, you should think about getting one of those vacuum machines. I’ve never used one personally, but I think he’d love the intensity.”

More intense? Yuuri didn’t absorb anything Chris just said, but Viktor looks thoughtful.

Chris stops abruptly and Yuuri’s chest heaves as the blood rushes back to his abused chest. “Yuuri, still with us? Your cock keeps twitching. Can you come just from this?”

He’s so riled up, maybe he could. It’s shameful how little it takes. He mumbles, indistinct, unable to form proper words.

Viktor’s thumb strokes near his belly button, soothing. Doing nothing to lower the temperature of his blood. “I think that might be a yes!” Viktor sounds delighted at the new challenge.

The difference between his red, abused right nipple and his untouched left one is stark. His right nipple is hot and stinging, his left is hard and aching for the same. 

Chris rectifies the imbalance quickly, deftly pinching and twisting his left nipple until Yuuri is desperately keening and shifting his hips in Viktor’s lap.

Viktor grips his hip and holds him still. “Stop.”

It’s hard, though, when Chris starts to play with his nipples in tandem, alternating between brutal pressure and barely-there brushes of skin. It _really hurts_. Viktor is never able to go this hard, give him this much relief; providing pain isn’t in his nature and it’s a struggle.

That’s part of the reason he’d invited Chris, and Yuuri had agreed. 

Before long he’s wriggling his hips again, helpless. There’s a promising bulge against his ass.

He’s not even wearing the clamps yet. _Fuck._

Tears are running down Yuuri’s face now. “Chris.” Viktor says.

“It’s okay. Right, Yuuri? This is what you wanted?”

“Yes,” Yuuri sobs. His chest is on fire.

Chris does stop, though, and finally reaches for the golden clamps. The loss of sensation is agonizing in its own way. 

It’s agonizing, having the metal pinch around both sides of his nipple and tighten. 

“Yuuri’s a lot like me when I sub,” Chris says. He pulls on the chain, testing its tightness, before moving to clamp his other nipple. They’re the tweezer-type, with a small adjustable ring at the base to dial up the intensity. After the abuse his chest has just taken, they’re only set to a modest midway.

The tears won’t stop but he’s so, so hard. When Viktor gently tugs the chain with one finger, Yuuri sobs.

“I think it makes me a bad person, but Yuuri is just so pretty when he cries.” Viktor says.

It’s a lie. Viktor is a heartbreakingly beautiful vision when he cries. Yuuri is an ugly crier: bright red cheeks, runny nose, scrunched up eyes.

Chris pets his hot cheek gently. “It doesn’t make you bad, Viktor. You have a very beautiful lover, and this is a good way for him to get it all out.”

Viktor’s hand trails sweetly down Yuuri’s stomach, tracing a line lower and lower until he’s holding Yuuri’s cock in his palm in a loose grip. Yuuri’s eyes snap open; it’s the first time he’s been touched there all night, and he has to take a few more shuddering breaths.

Viktor’s hand is warm and dry. The tip of Yuuri’s leaking cock only just peeks out of Viktor’s fist.

“You ready for this, Beautiful?”

He’s so ready. “Y-” he swallows, “Yes.”

Chris passes Viktor an individual foil packet of lube, already open at the corner. Viktor drizzles it over his fist and Yuuri’s aching hardness, and then tightens his grip just a bit and strokes him, teasingly soft. Viktor’s thumb traces the big vein at Yuuri’s base, pressure so slight it almost tickles. Yuuri whimpers.

If they were to go back to having a conversation on French, Yuuri wasn’t sure what he’d do. Thankfully, both their eyes are on him now, soaking up each tremble and twitch. Chris thumbs the tears away from Yuuri’s eyes and then pets his hair while Viktor slowly tears him apart.

He can’t get any friction and it’s a different kind of agony. Each stroke along his cock makes a slick sound in the air of the club.

Yuuri shifts his hips, desperate, but Viktor presses down firmly with his other hand on his hip bone and holds him there.

The only thing worse than this slow torture is when Viktor pulls away completely. Yuuri keens and Chris leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. 

Thankfully, Viktor just moves his hand down to lightly fondle his balls, gently manipulating them. They’re heavy; he needs to come so bad.

“Does he like a little pain down there too?” Chris asks.

“Maybe,” Viktor says. “We’ve talked about it. I’m not comfortable with that yet.”

Yuuri is totally down for that type of play in theory. They haven’t put it into practice. 

Viktor’s hand returns to grip Yuuri’s cock, finally firm. He strokes with purpose, thumbing the head, again and again and again but still _so slow._

Yuuri tries to focus on just breathing. Around them, other patrons have filtered in and are putting on their own shows. He can hear talking, and laughter, and fucking. He’s sinking into something, overstimulated and crying again, and is only brought back briefly when the chain connecting his nipples is tugged, intermittently. 

When Viktor lets go of his hip and uses the flat of his palm to play with the head of his cock, still in his fist, it pushes him to a whole new level of overwrung nerves. If Viktor could just move a little faster, grip a little tighter, he could come. But relief is impossible like this. 

“It hurts,” he gasps. “Viktor.”

Once, this would have been enough to get Viktor to pull away and immediately apologize. Instead, he merely asks, “Do you want me to to stop?” 

“No,” Yuuri growls. His nails are making indents where he’s clenched them tight into fists. 

Viktor continues to play with him slowly, whispering things that set Yuuri’s blood further on fire. “I could do this forever, darling. You’re so beautiful just like this, taking everything we can give you.”

Oh, Yuuri wants to reach out so badly. He could just reach out, grab Viktor’s hand and make him go faster, grip tighter. Just a few good pumps is all it should take. 

But he’s let Viktor have control, and Chris is watching. Yuuri refuses to break things _now._

Viktor plays with him until everything just fades out, until all that exists in the world is Viktor’s hand on his cock. After what feels like hours, Viktor’s grip does get tighter, faster. Yuuri pants harshly, throat raw.

“All right, Beautiful. Come for me.”

Yuuri shoots hot come across his own belly as Viktor milks him through orgasm. It goes on and on, until Viktor has pulled out every last drop, until he’s oversensitive and overwrought. 

Somedays Viktor will play with him even then, forcing out a second orgasm or even a third, until it’s more agony than it is relief. Today, though, Viktor just smears the come over Yuuri’s abs with his talented fingers.

“I’ll get us a towel,” Chris says. He gently lifts up Yuuri’s shoulder and presses him closer to Viktor, who holds him close with steady arms. Yuuri buries his hot face in Viktor’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo. 

“All right?” Viktor says, petting Yuuri’s hair.

“Mmmm,” Yuuri responds, pushing his nose deeper behind Viktor’s ear. 

With one arm still supporting Yuuri’s back, Viktor moves to remove the tweezer clamps. They sting as they’re removed, and Yuuri grumbles.

Chris comes back, smiling, with a wet towel, and sits down thigh-to-thigh with Viktor. He presses a light kiss to Yuuri’s cheek and hands Viktor the towel.

The come dried in his hairline is hopeless, but the worst of it on his belly is easy enough to clean. Yuuri drifts as Viktor takes care of him.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Chris says. “It has been an inarguable pleasure.”

“Thanks for dropping by,” Viktor says. They both speaking softly and Yuuri appreciates it.

Eventually he’ll have to get dressed, or at the very least decent, for the return to their rented hotel suite. They’d discussed other things they might do, in the privacy there, and all of Yuuri’s worries about how that might go have dissipated. For now, warm and cared for, Yuuri dozes, safe and calm. 

**Author's Note:**

> There is a safeword and they've discussed what's going on, that part is just not included in the fic. Nipple clamps weren't attached more than 15 minutes, because that's dangerous.
> 
> There might be a second part with glorious DP! Maybe. But for now, this is stand-alone.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
